


House of the Rising Sun

by akhlys



Series: Landlines [3]
Category: Taken (TV 2002)
Genre: Age Difference, Explanations, F/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-06-09 20:07:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6921205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akhlys/pseuds/akhlys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No more phone calls, no more letters: she's 23, and it's time to talk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	House of the Rising Sun

“Okay.” Mary grins. “One more?”

Chet groans, though he’s grinning, too – but this suggestion of his has already gotten out of hand. And they’re not even drinking – well, save for the mimosas that came with room-service breakfast. But it’s a sunny August Saturday, and they’re in New York for the weekend, and Mary’s inhibitions are gone.

So when, this morning, as she sucked on the last strawberry, he had his brainwave – he couldn’t have been expected to know what would follow. “Let’s get to know each other,” he’d said.

She’d rolled her eyes. “You’ve known me since I was eight.”

He had raised his palms in acquiescence. “Sure, but – you don’t have _any_ questions?”

Mary’s eyes brightened, and she thought for a moment – and then the questions rattled out of her, one after another. _Where are you from_ , _what did you want to be when you grow up_ , _how long can you hold your breath,_ more and more and –

“Alright,” he cracks his knuckles. “ _One_ more.”

“Okay,” she tucks her legs under her. “So.” Something on the tip of her tongue. He tilts his head encouragingly. “My 18th birthday.”

Honestly, he’s shocked she didn’t lead with this. “What about it?”

Her expression is almost unreadable, but he knows his girl. She’s part curious, part excited, part nerves. “Why…why didn’t you try anything?”

He laughs, and she looks hurt for a fraction of a second – but he reaches for her hand, lacing his fingers through hers. “Oh, stella.”

“You had to know I would’ve – ” She cuts herself off, blushing slightly. “I thought you’d call. Or something.”

Sitting with her now, a flimsy tank top barely covering her young, pale skin; sheets barely covering a black lace thong; her hair tousled from his fingers and his pressing her down against the mattress – it’s hard for him to think back to her 18th. But the angst, the longing, the fear – he remembers.

He pulls her into him, to remind himself that he can. She smiles against his lips, her tongue slipping into his mouth and her arms going around his neck as she straddles him. His hands on her waist, she pulls away, resting her forehead on his. He bites for her, and she kisses his nose in return. “Yeah,” she says, her hands moving to his chest. “Something like that.”

He chuckles, running his fingers up her ribs. “There was no way I could have, Mary. Realistically – think about it.”

Mary raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean? I was 18 – age of consent pretty much everywhere, even for you, Mr. California. And I…” she trails off, and he raises a matching eyebrow. Determined, she finishes her sentence. “I wanted you, Chet. I wanted you so – ” That’s enough honesty from her; the blush becomes pronounced and she breaks eye contact.

He raises a hand to move her chin, kissing her slowly, deeply. When they part, he smiles gently. “I wanted you too, beautiful.”

“So why?” Blush gone, determination in full force.

“Well,” he clears his throat. “Let’s say I’d called, confessed everything. What would have happened?”

“I would’ve lost my virginity to you,” she replies instantly.

His turn to blush. He’s never thought of it that way – god. “Okay – fair enough. Shit. Okay.”

Mary can tell she’s caught him off guard, and she writhes closer. “So, your argument, Dr. Wakeman?”

He shakes stars from his eyes. “Alright – that serious misstep aside – ” Mary giggles. “I had no idea what you really felt, Mary. I didn’t want to be the reason you went to therapy. I didn’t want to cast some shadow on your childhood – some dirty old guy perving on a teenager. I mean, it could have gone any direction, and – ” he pauses, briefly. “That could have been sideways, for me.”

Mary rolls her eyes. “Oh, come _on_ , Wakeman – you _knew_ how I felt.”

 “So what would I have done, if you’d been interested? Moved to Maine? That would have looked mildly, ah, _suspicious_. And except for you, there was nothing for me here.”

“I would’ve gone to university in California,” Mary retorts. “I applied, you know. I was accepted. But you sent that stupid card and there was no way I was making a fool of myself and heading out there.”

He nods. “I don’t blame you. But even if you’d come – then what?”

“Then…” she looks at him, eyebrows raised, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“You were young, stella,” he replies, a hand rising to thumb her cheek. “Even if you were legal, you were young. If I wanted something to…” and he makes eye contact with her, here, “to last – I needed to wait for you. You had to be the one to start it, and you had to live a little before you did.”

She sighs. “I just…”

He kisses her forehead, soft lips. “I know. Me too.”

And suddenly she’s fierce on him, ripping into him, flinging her tank top across the room and he pauses, her wrists in his hands, and takes it in – this almost-naked woman sitting on him, wet obvious even through their underwear; this princess, this _queen_ – and she whimpers for him and their arms grasp each other close and he can’t breathe.

“I’m not 18 anymore,” she murmurs, sliding her underwear off her hips and starting on his. He groans. “Nothing to resist now.”

“Tell me about it,” he says, gravel in his throat, adjusting to pull off his briefs. “And resistance,” he bites her lip, naked against her, “is no longer an option.”

His eyes rest on hers, and in the midst of violent desire, they pause. He is vibrating with how much he feels for her, their relationship barely two months old, their secrets rising. “God, Mary,” he mutters, and she falls into him as he flips her onto her back.

Their bodies match like flawless oxymorons – beautiful and broken, her youth and his age. Her long legs twined are around his; his hips nestled in hers, moving gently at first, then harder, then rougher, then insistently, and his hands framing her face, tangled in her hair; his mouth swallowing her moans, breath heavy in her ear, and everything is twisting, building, and she cries out for him.

“Chet,” she gasps, her nails in his back, “I’m going to come.” And she screams and his ears ring for hours.

He comes inside her, exploding, shuddering, and her body is soft and safe and welcomes him in. Her hands on his back, gently running the length of his spine, his face in her shoulder until he can stand to raise his head to look at her again.

As he does, her smile is so small, so genuine, so full of something unspoken, that he lets an uninhibited sound slip – not a grunt or a sigh but something in between, something that says everything he wishes it had been acceptable to say on her 18th birthday.

And 23 and ravishing, 23 and ravished: she leans up to kiss him.

 

 


End file.
